No hole too big or too small to emit stuff

The twins both have florid patches of weeping pox all over their perfect little bodies.  Twin1 was in our bed crying and and scratching all night.  The husband slept in twin1's bunk to tend to the equally itchy twin2.  Twin1 insisted on cuddling up close to me which meant poking and jabbing my bad arm to the state where it feels like a shredded flutter of palid, useless flesh held together by its hyper sensitive coating.

My parents have taken them out for a walk, tucked up in their pushchair so I can get some work done.  If my parents weren't a) here and b) as generous as they are, I'm sure my fingernails would be the only things keeping me attached to the crumbling cliff by now.  Since my return from the UK 3 weeks ago the children have lost liquid from orifices and pores in a steady stream of matter not suitable for print.  Their absence from kindy and the mess this stream produces would have sent me over the edge but ma and pa have hosted sleepovers, provided countless park and beach trips for the children and helped keep my house in some kind of order.  Grateful isn't the word.

This weekend lad turns 5.  I had a quick scan down the invitees to see who I need to call and tell of the girls' pox but all the children coming either have chicken pox at the moment or are recovering from it.  Perfect.  Let the games commence.

lad turns 4

I awoke this morning to the question "Mummy am I four now?" I sleepily smiled a yes and pulled my big, grown up four year old son in for a cuddle. We have had the most wonderful day. The birthday present of a brontosaurus model was a massive hit, he chatted to my parents and brother on skype, played swing ball with the husband's parents and giggled with his sisters and cousin. At his request we went to the airport and watched planes land and take off followed by McDonalds. I watched twin2 turn into a deranged lunatic in her efforts to protect her bottle of juice and vowed to choose water next time.

Tomorrow we have all lad's friends round to enjoy a bouncy castle in the garden. He has been entranced at the 'getting older' part of his birthday. "Is it still my birthday? Am I still four?" And informing strangers of his age all day, brimming with shiny eyed glee. I am so proud of my little lad. He loves conversation and finding out how things work. His favourite programmes on TV are David Attenborough narrated nature documentaries and cookery programmes featuring Jamie Oliver. His happiest days have been spent helping his Daddy pour concrete into foundations and planting the vegetable garden. He has a great sense of confidence in himself and others and is fantastic company. He can concentrate well on a task and is interested in talking to adults. I love my special little boy. Happy birthday, son.

Calm before the storm

Tomorrow our little girls turn 1. This time last year I was frantically rushing all over the place getting acupuncture and buying premature clothes in anticipation of their arrival by induction the following day. My abiding memory of the day is sitting outside a cafe with my-sister-in law, soaking up the sun, feeling a sense of excitement, calm (as in before the storm) and probably slight dread about going into labour although I have carefully blotted from my memory the bulk of the grisly details. In fact just the other day someone asked me what it was like giving birth to twins. "Yeah, not too bad" was my reply. Upon reflection and remembering the reality of the labour I realised the more accurate response would have been "Yeah, ghastly".
Amazing how nature purposely removes the hideous pain from the memory and in its place leaves a sprinkling of tinkerbell style fairy dust and magical wonder.

On a similar note I can quite clearly remember the thought running through my mind as Twin2 arrived into the world amid a flurry of profanity (me) and shouted words of encouragement (my husband and midwife) which wasn't "are my babies ok?" or "can i see them?" or even "are they girls" but a much more telling"thank fuck I'm not pregnant anymore". The last year has been, well, I won't bore you with the description of the dark days. Suffice to say I'm not really a 'baby' kind of gal, I like my company to be able to walk unaided and have some control of speech (unless of course it's 2am at which point I don't have either tool in my armoury).

Baking their cakes (oh alright then buying the sponge from the supermarket) and decorating them into number '1's will be a glorious, happy way to spend the next couple of hours.